The McDonald's at Riley Hospital will close at the end of this month. The hospital says the fast-food restaurant doesn't fit with its mission to promote healthy eating and living. / Star file

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I don’t have much love for McDonald’s. The distinctive smell of Chicken McNuggets makes me queasy. The sweet tea is way too sweet. And the McRib is, well, appalling.

But I still find myself torn over the decision to evict McDonald’s from Riley Hospital for Children at IU Health. Come the first of the year, the hospital will open a cafe in the lobby of the Simon Family Tower that will remain open 20 hours a day.

Why get rid of the cheap and popular fast-food chain? It’s all about promoting healthy eating habits. Riley, like a number of children’s hospitals across the country, has come under fire for not offering more nutritious food. It already got rid of soda. Deep fryers are next. And now, Riley has targeted its longtime, first-floor tenant, McDonald’s.

“Hospitals are often within their communities a center of health,” said Elly Spinweber, a spokeswoman for Partnership for a Healthier America, of which Riley is a member. “It’s important to make healthier choices more available for people.”

She’s right.

I spent months this summer researching and writing about childhood hunger, health and obesity. They’re all linked. And we’ve got real issues in Indiana. We almost always rank at or near the bottom of lists when it comes to fitness and health. We don’t have enough farmers markets, we have food deserts, parents don’t know how to cook nutritious meals, and children regularly pay the price.

But the parents of patients who are protesting the decision aren’t thinking logically. They’re thinking emotionally — and in some cases, economically.

I’m with them.

You see, in early 2009, my godson was diagnosed with leukemia. He was just over a year old back then, and we soon learned that he had three years of chemotherapy in front of him.

For his parents, and for me, that meant spending many long days and nights hanging out in the fifth-floor cancer ward at Riley. It’s a place where you have to douse your hands in antibacterial gel before you enter, and if you have even a sniffle, you have to stay away or put at risk the kids with compromised immune systems.

It’s a place where blood cells are counted constantly, along with blood pressures and temperatures. It’s a place where strangers become friends, bonds born of worry and forced humor.

The entire focus on that floor — and I imagine throughout Riley — is on getting well. But in the cancer ward, there’s always the creeping fear that your kid won’t get well. You hear about those who didn’t make it. And you wonder if your kid will. And then you wonder if your kid knows or understands what you’re thinking.

They do.

Riley is a serious and stressful place. McDonald’s is the one corner of it that’s not. Looking back, I’m convinced that’s why it was always packed, no matter how early or how late. Happy Meals were constantly ordered and consumed. Tired and worried parents downed fountain drinks, trying to stay awake and keep the smiles on their faces.

I remember there were times when my godson didn’t want to eat, I’m guessing because of the chemo. But if I got McDonald’s, I could usually persuade him to nibble on something.

Would I rather he eat vegetables? Sure. But something is better than nothing.

We all know that McDonald’s is trashy food, but it’s also comfort food. It’s not healthy for the body, but for many of the children and parents in uncertain situations at Riley, it is healthy for the soul. It’s a taste of normalcy in an abnormal environment.

That said, I don’t know what the right answer is for Riley. It definitely has a responsibility to be a leader in our community in promoting healthy living. But it also has a responsibility to its patients. Maybe the answer is a compromise. Adding a cafe with low-priced, nutritious food, as planned, but also keeping a smaller McDonald’s on site with limited hours.

All I know is that sometimes, when it comes to getting well and staying well, nutrition isn’t all that matters. Sometimes — and it truly pains me to say this — a Happy Meal can make all the difference in the world.